“Must they?”
I did not dare lift my head, but I couldn’t help but hear Miriam’s quick intake of breath. From where I knelt I could also see Mordecai’s hand, which had clenched tightly behind his back.
Buoyed by hope, I cast a quick glance toward the litter and saw a look of regret flit across the queen’s perfect features, then she smiled again. “The man who takes her for a wife will be blessed by the gods—and you may tell him I said so.”
She dropped the curtain, cutting off all further conversation. The beardless man, apparently her servant, nodded at Mordecai and called a command to the litter-bearers, who squared their shoulders and moved forward. But my gaze caught the tall man’s as he looked back at us, and I couldn’t help noticing that a corner of his thin mouth had lifted . . . as if he were silently laughing.
He was probably tickled by the notion that I might be fit for a prince.
Chapter Two
Harbonah
OF COURSE, I WANTED TO LAUGH at Mordecai’s young cousin when we first met. Though pretty, the girl was so obviously impressed by the queen that she could not possibly have possessed a woman’s sophistication or intuition. A more experienced female would not have been awed by Vashti’s striking face and sparkling jewels. She would have glimpsed the ambition shimmering in those bright eyes and heard the avarice in her tone. Mordecai’s Hadassah had not yet learned, as I had, that a devious and jealous heart lay behind the woman’s beauty and ostentatious adornment.
The queen spoke the truth when she remarked upon the girl’s comeliness, but I had been struck by the obvious longing in the child’s expression. Rarely had I seen such wistfulness in a girl’s eyes, and never had I seen it in the eyes of a youngster from Judea.
Experience had taught me that most Judeans kept to themselves, conducting their business within the city without ever becoming a part of it. They worshipped, socialized, and arranged marriages only within the small scope of their community.
I chuckled as I dodged a runaway chicken that darted in front of the queen’s litter. Mordecai’s pretty ward might be obedient in word and action, but I’d wager a fistful of silver that restlessness stirred in her heart. I might have enjoyed talking with the girl, but given our circumstances I could only smile and wonder at the reason behind her wistful smile.
Did she long for romance? She was old enough to be betrothed, so perhaps her young heart pined for love. Did she long for wealth? Mordecai was not wealthy, yet neither was he impoverished. He had earned a responsible position at the King’s Gate, which meant he was well compensated and well respected. He probably lived in a comfortable dwelling within walking distance of the palace, and the closer to the palace, the more luxurious the home. So the young girl had not known poverty in her short life.
I stopped walking as a babbling child broke free from his mother and ran toward me, then nodded in understanding as the mother shouted apologies and gathered up her headstrong son. A sidelong glance at the litter assured me the queen had not noticed the interruption, so Vashti must be deep in thought. A happy coincidence for all.
I resumed my steady pace as my thoughts returned to Mordecai and his lovely little ward. Perhaps the girl felt overprotected. Perhaps the child had heard stories of foreign lands and exotic kingdoms, and perhaps her encounter with the queen had revived buried dreams. She had probably never met anyone from the royal family, and if that were so, I felt pleased to have had something to do with bringing her joy. Few girls of her station would ever have an opportunity to see the queen, and even fewer would have a chance to be acknowledged by the king’s wife.
Vashti had been correct about one thing—Mordecai’s young cousin possessed a rare loveliness, evident even though her face still bore the soft plumpness of childhood. She would soon blossom into a radiant flower, perhaps one fit for the palace.
I was certain the girl would prove to be exceptional. For I, being a eunuch since boyhood, knew far too much about women.
I might never have seen Mordecai’s wife and ward again, but in the third year of his reign my master decided to hold a banquet unlike any in the history of the world. I smiled when he shared the news and naturally assumed that the burden for planning the celebration would fall on my shoulders.
Later, one of the scribes read the official proclamation to me:
“Saith Xerxes the King: Ahura Mazda, the greatest of the gods—he created me: he made me king: he bestowed upon me this great kingdom, possessed of good horses, possessed of good men.
“By the favor of Ahura Mazda I abolished the Kingdom of Babel and carried away the golden statue of Marduk, the hands of which the king of Babel had to seize on the first day of each year. By the favor of Ahura Mazda I killed the priest who tried to hinder me. By the favor of Ahura Mazda, Babel is no more, and Ahura Mazda has made me king in this earth. Unto Ahura Mazda thus was the desire: he chose me as his man in all the earth.”
“Get to the point,” I urged the scribe. “I don’t need to hear all of that ritual talk.”
The scribe shrugged, then moved to a paragraph further down the parchment.
“Saith Xerxes the King: At Susa, built by my father, an excellent feast has been ordered. The rulers of all twenty satraps are to come, all one hundred twenty-seven provincial governors are to come partake of a grand celebration, and all who fought with me at Babel are invited to come partake as well. All noble families of Persia are invited to Susa to enjoy a magnificent feast and the splendor Ahura Mazda has granted to me.
“Thus saith Xerxes the King.”
The scribe lowered his parchment. “That’s it. The king is giving a feast.”
“For every noble, governor, and soldier?” I asked. “From throughout the empire?”
The nerves in my neck tensed when the scribe nodded.
So the king wanted to give a banquet—wonderful. He would realize that someone had to feed and entertain his guests, but he wouldn’t give a single thought to the fact that his guests would also need a place to live, bathe, and relax for as long as they remained in Susa. They would come with horses and tents; some of them might bring their families. Somehow Susa, an already crowded city, would have to make room for all of them.
I stifled a groan and went straight to work. Never in the history of the world had a king made so generous an offer, and never in the short history of my life had I faced such an undertaking. I found myself hoping the king would never extend such generosity again.
The king’s visitors journeyed from every corner of the empire, and all of them were eager to share in the king’s largess. From as far away as India and Ethiopia the provincial governors came, along with every nobleman, soldier, and military officer in each of the twenty satraps. When every structure in Susa bulged with guests, I ordered the king’s servants to spread luxurious white tents on the plain to house the late arrivals.
Those of us who served in the palace gritted our teeth, girded our loins, and pasted on polite smiles.
For one hundred eighty days, the king’s guests raped the city of Susa, trampling crops planted outside the city walls, ransacking the bazaar, and foisting unwanted attentions on the wives and daughters of Susa’s citizens. These men, whose customs were as foreign as their faces, brawled at night and stayed abed through the morning. In their hosts’ homes, they tossed chicken bones out the windows and allowed their horses to defecate in courtyard gardens. They bathed their dogs in lavish fountains and used so much water that several of the city’s wells ran dry.
After two weeks, I was sick of our visitors, but the king was far from weary. For defeating a mere handful of rebels in Babylon and Egypt, he had become drunk on the praise of his guests.
For those of us who had not been so richly blessed by Ahura Mazda, the months of the royal banquet were more about exhaustion than celebration.
As the king’s chamberlain, I was responsible for making sure every aspect of the feast met with the king’s approval. Every morning we who served the royal family rose early
to bathe and don white garments before we began to prepare the midday dinner. The gardeners pruned and raked and lit incense to sweeten the air; the cooks slaughtered and salted and baked, desperately trying to remain ahead of the guests’ appetites. Slave girls mopped and swept and polished the marble columns and hallways while stoneworkers checked every inch of the glazed brick walls in case one of the revelers had managed to chip a delicate pattern.
I began to resent the feast, because it kept me from the work I enjoyed most—attending to the king’s personal needs. Though my king had a host of eunuchs to attend him, I yearned to be the one closest to him and most in tune with his variable emotions. But I found it nearly impossible to serve my king and oversee the mother of all feasts.
When my master took a nap or went out for a ride, I remained in the palace and flew from station to station, ensuring that every possible problem had been considered and prevented. If a slave had fallen ill, I stepped in to do whatever had to be done: grinding wheat, basting a roasted pig for the flustered cook, refreshing a wilted flower arrangement, straightening the fluttering banners in the garden, or hiring replacement musicians. The only task I refused was slaughtering animals—I have never been able to stand the sight of blood.
The work was tiring, boring, and thankless, yet I understood my master’s desire to please his people. A king without satisfied subjects would soon find himself no king at all, so every night I would retire to a quiet corner of the palace, close my eyes, and try to imagine what each guest must have seen, heard, and smelled after they left their animals at the livery and climbed the stairs that led to Susa’s splendid fortress.
From the plain beside the river, the royal mountain was a spectacular sight, rising from the flat earth and dominating the city, one of several capitals in the Persian Empire. Four grand staircases led up to the fortress, but visitors on horseback approached from the Ville Royale, where they crossed a sloping bridge that ended on a landing that flanked the garden.
Whichever approach the guests chose, they would stroll past glazed walls decorated with reliefs depicting courtly processions, the presentation of gifts, and preparations for ceremonies, all designed to remind the visitor that he was about to experience the full splendor of the king’s majesty.
Once the guest had arrived at the top of the royal fortress, he would find himself in a great hall furnished with benches. Surrounded by gleaming tiled walls, here he would wait until summoned or until a servant arrived to guide him to the proper palace within the royal compound. A guest would be most likely to be escorted to the apadana, the magnificent columned hall designed for receiving processions and gifts. This audience hall, built on a plateau high above the river plain, featured towering columns, each taller than ten men standing one atop the other. As many as ten thousand guests could mingle in the apadana, though not many of them would be able to catch a glimpse of the king.
If the guest were well-known, respected, or of high rank—a general in the king’s army, for instance—he might be escorted to the palace of Xerxes, the king’s personal residence. He would walk past dozens of heavily armed guards from the elite corps known as the Immortals, and he would meet with the king either in a reception room or the king’s personal chambers.
Other high-ranking guests might have reason to visit the treasury, where priceless objects were catalogued and stored after being presented to the king. Dozens of accountants and scribes worked in the treasury, recording payments and dispensing gifts to those who had earned the king’s favor. Other valuable items, most of them given as tribute or collected as spoil from conquered kingdoms, remained in the treasury as a constant reminder of the king’s conquests.
Only a fool would approach the palace that housed the king’s harem. Guarded and attended by a staff of eunuchs, the high-ranking royal women lived in these apartments, including the king’s mother, his queen, and his concubines. These apartments differed from one another in size and luxury according to the occupant’s rank.
During the banquet, slaves escorted guests directly to the apadana, which occupied the north side of the fortress and offered access to the exquisite grounds. The visitors began to arrive at midday and mingled in the garden until servants led them to the dining couches scattered throughout the apadana, the gardens, and among the fountains. As they ate, the guests bragged of their exploits in Egypt and Babylon, their encounters growing bloodier and the enemy more threatening with each repetition. The soldiers, generals, and governors participated in a continual game of one-upmanship, stopping only when they neared the king’s level; then each man praised the king’s military genius, power, and skill until Xerxes approached the pinnacle of greatness occupied by the divine Ahura Mazda.
But my master was no god, and I suspected that he often doubted his own suitability for the throne. During the banquet, he continually referred to his father, the great Darius, as if emphasizing their relationship to legitimize his leadership. “By the favor of Ahura Mazda,” he would say as each night’s revelry drew to a close, “Darius the king, my father, did much good. And by the favor of Ahura Mazda, I will also add to that work and build more. May Ahura Mazda, together with the gods, protect me and my kingdom.”
I knew, though few others did, that while the guests laughed and exchanged stories in the gardens, the king held secret meetings with his generals in his private quarters. Eager to avenge his father’s only defeat, the king was designing a military campaign against a western nation. His victory in Babylon had been little more than a suppression of rebels, and he knew it. He wanted new territory, and he had turned his gaze upon Greece.
The vast majority of military men at the banquet had no idea they were being fattened like pigs for slaughter. As the sun dipped toward the western horizon, the generals emerged from the meetings and slaves carried trays of food through the crowd, allowing each guest to take whatever he liked. During the meal, servants hovered near with rhytons molded in the shapes of winged lions, many of pure gold. These vessels held the kingdom’s finest wine, and slaves stood ready to pour whenever the king raised his glass. No one drank unless the king did, and though some may have quietly grumbled about the king’s restraint, I felt grateful for my master’s self-control. These were soldiers, after all, so they should be men of discipline.
As the guests ate their fill, slaves lit oil lamps suspended in the trees, and evening crept over the garden. Musicians strummed the lute and lyre while the royal concubines walked throughout the crowd, exuding a feminine loveliness that charmed and fascinated the men in attendance. Not a man present, however, would have dared to touch one of the king’s women.
After a suitable interval, the curtains around the king’s private enclosure dropped softly to the floor, creating a wall between my master and his guests. The one thousand Immortals assigned to guard the king shifted their positions in order to escort him to his bedchamber.
Our banquet guests recognized their cue to depart.
My fellow slaves and I stood with hands clasped as they bundled the remnants of their feast and headed toward the stairs, some leaning on each other, others accidentally dropping the food intended to sustain them during their stay in Susa. Even though the king discouraged drunkenness during the banquet, his men were not so temperate when away from the royal presence. As I watched one bleary-eyed captain take a long drink on a bottle he’d hidden in his tunic, I marveled that such an army had been able to crush a revolt.
But they had been sober in battle. I knew I should not resent this feast, their reward for valor and victory.
But I did.
After six full months of feasting and drinking, the soldiers, commanders, generals, and governors gathered their servants, piled their pilfered treasures into carriages and chariots, and followed the king’s highways back to their distant homes. While I knew they would never forget this experience, I fervently hoped I would.
Then the king decided to host another banquet.
I was not with my master when he made the decisi
on, so the announcement reached me through Memucan, the eldest of the seven vice-regents who advised the king on matters of law and policy. “The people of Susa have been sorely abused by the king’s former guests,” Memucan explained in the hushed tone suitable for speaking to a slave. “So to placate the populace, he will give another banquet to rival the first.”
Tension ratcheted up my nerves. “Surely not for another six months.”
“For seven days,” Memucan replied. “For the next week we will feast as before, but without restriction as to the wine. As a special dispensation to his put-upon people, no servant is to refuse a guest if he asks for more wine, and no one is to compel a guest to drink. Furthermore, all the citizens of Susa are invited, including the women, who will be entertained by the queen in her chambers. The people have borne much for the sake of the king’s graciousness; now they will be rewarded for their hospitality, grudging though it may have been.”
Knowing we had to work or face the lash, we slaves set to work again. We replaced faded hangings, polished gold and silver goblets, cleaned silver couches, and refilled silken cushions.
“For all the people of Susa,” one servant remarked as he hauled a pile of soiled pillows away, “except those who serve in the palace. When will the king give a feast for us?”
I caught him by the arm and gave him a stern look. “You feast in the king’s palace every day, so hold your tongue lest someone chop it off. Your duty is to obey and remember that you could be outside planting crops.”
“Like that’d be so terrible,” the slave grumbled, shifting his burden to his hip. “Fresh air, the freedom to move about and keep a woman in a hut—that wouldn’t be such a bad life. But what would a eunuch know about it?”
I stepped back, repulsed by the derision in his tone. I might have given him a snappish reply, but his words had transported me to a distant place, a vault filled with violent memories I had locked away and sworn never to release.
Esther : Royal Beauty (9781441269294) Page 2